The Relapse
by SamDellaMente
Summary: Someone has stepped in, taking the place of President Snow. They've restarted the Hunger Games. When Katniss' and Peeta's daughter is sent into the arena, what happens? Rated T for violence and possible language.
1. Prologue

A/N: Yes, it's only a small prologue, but it's dramatic. My friend, Anoushka, is my Beta for this fanfiction. I want to say a huge thank you to her for helping me with this. 3

**Katniss: **Sam does not own The Hunger Games or any of the characters in it. She does, however, own the characters she made up.

Ah ^_^ thank you, Katniss.

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><p>They keep me in a silent embrace. None of us have anything to say. We are too frightened. Too worried. Their tears fall from their eyes onto me. They know what I am going through. They have been through it before. They hold me tight. I don't want to let them go, but I have to. My brother sits beside us, too upset to say or do anything. We are given the sign and time is up. They have to leave. My father stands first and my mother follows him, then my brother. They mutter words of "I love you" and "We love you". My mother whispers "stay alive" and my father shoots a glare at her. I reply the same back to them. There is sadness in their eyes. Anger in their eyes. A man comes in to take me out and he nods at my parents.<p>

"Mr and Mrs Mellark, what a pleasant surprise." I can hear sarcasm and resentment hidden deep beneath his words.


	2. PreTraining

**A/N: **Hey! So, this chapter took a while to write because I want this fanfiction to be longer and in much more detail than any other I have wrote.

My beta reader is my friend, Anoushka. I want to thank her for helping me and editing the chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I do **not **own any part of the Hunger Games whatsoever.

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><p>I press the light pink flower gently onto the fluffy white icing. I hear someone breathing heavily behind me and turn around. It's my father. I smile at him as he examines my work. He owns the bakery that we are standing in; he inherited it from his parents. I have just finished decorating a cake that he baked with small flowers on the icing covered layers. Only a few flowers per layer.<p>

"That's good, Jay, though I think it could do with a ribbon around the bottom," he says, walking over to one of the drawers. I look over to the door as I hear it open and my Mother walks in. I watch as they greet each other with a hug and a peck on the lips. My parents are Katniss and Peeta Mellark; they're famous where we live. Famous, but for all the wrong reasons. My mother walks over to me and places her hands on my shoulders, kneading softly into my skin. She looks down at the cake in front of me.

"You take after your father," she says with a smile and presses a kiss to my hairline, my forehead is shimmering in sweat from concentration. I smile at her praise, which is a rare occurrence really. I admire my Dad's artistic skill and wish I could be able to paint as he does. He paints and draws words and thoughts, it is enchanting. A grin forms on my father's face, but it soon fades as he and my Mum share a glance of uncertainty. My Mum's hands press a little harder into me as she leads me towards the exit of the bakery. I stop walking at the door and turn around to face her, a brow raised.

"What -"

"Go home, Jay, your father and I need to discuss something. Rory is there with Rafael. Tell him thank you for looking after your brother." my Mum tell me. She opens the door and pushes me out gently; I hear it slam as I leave. There's no need for me to go back and ask what it is they're talking about, because I already know. It's the Hunger Games.

When I was five years old, President Paylor stepped down from her position, which was when a new President took over Panem. His name is President Clark. He brought back the Hunger Games and ordered the arenas to be rebuilt, after they had been destroyed and burnt down by the rebels. My parents told my brother and I that they were tributes in the Games when they were sixteen, then again a year later. At the time, I was upset and angry they had never told us of their heroic actions towards the war, they had never explained why people stared and whispered around them and around us. I thought the parents were jealous, because mine were so in love. But I couldn't have been more wrong. My Mother sat me down and told me the whole story; she even found a tape of both her games for me to watch. But she made me switch it off when it got too gory. I caught her crying a bit, and turned it off completely. I heard her screaming that night. My dad said it was nightmares, the tape had triggered them.

My name was first entered into the Games two years ago when I turned twelve and because the entries are cumulative; my name is now entered three times. However, we're lucky enough that I don't need to apply for Tesserae. My parents being victors sorted that out, and if that's the only priority they get, at least it reassures me a bit. They fear that my name will be chosen in the Reaping, as they know what the Games are like and wouldn't wish it on anyone, especially not me. Well that's what I thought until I overheard my parents arguing one evening. Dad was shouting at my mum, he was annoyed that she had wanted the Games to be repeated for Snow's granddaughter. For the children of the Capitol, children of those who made the Games in the first place. Revenge. I recall him saying that if she had voted against it, the Games wouldn't have been reinforced. That it was all her fault. I remember the districts being places full of joy and love. Now, there's nothing but pain and remorse. District 12 haven't had any victors yet since the Games restarted.

Before I know it, I am back in Victor's Village where I live. As I step up to front door to my house, I see Haymitch exit his. He gives me a small smile and a nod, which I return before opening the door. Mum always talks about how Haymitch used to be livelier, despite his constant drunken state. I think old age is what has changed him, but I suspect in the back of my mind that the war, between the rebels in the Capitol, changed him forever. I didn't believe that one could survive the Games, and live to experience anything worse, but maybe because people were being killed, and we had a choice, made it even more disturbing, even more disastrous. I close the door behind me and walk into the living room, where I see Rory and Rafael playing a game of cards on the floor. Everything reminds me of the war of which I've been told so much.

Cards – the houses of cards my Dad made when the Capitol captured him. He told me how he made them hundreds of stories high, and the guards would push them over, to drive him to insanity. Thinking, my face blank, I sit down on the armchair beside them, watching them play. Ever since my father pulled out the family's pack of cards not long after the harsh winter we'd just had, my brother has never stopped playing. He invites his friends round to play and even challenges the neighbours. I play a game with him every Sunday night before we go to bed. He normally wins, but I have beaten him once, although he swears he let me win because he pitied me. Rory looks over to me when I lean my head forward to take a closer look at the game. Really, I'm not that interested in it, but it seems better than sitting, risking thinking too much about the war and my parent's past. Rafael never takes his focus away from the game, even when I sound a small, what I hope to be distracting, cough. From what I can see, my brother is winning, which is no surprise. Rory turns his head back to his deck of cards and continues the game when I stand up and walk to the kitchen.

I pull a glass out of the cupboard and fill it up with cold water, taking a sip. Water is the only thing I drink, apart from the rare glass of wine, which I'm only allowed on special occasions. I remain in the kitchen, deep in my thoughts, wondering what my mother and father are discussing about the games. Even though they are previous victors, they haven't been called to mentor any of the tributes, my Dad said it's because they might cause trouble. I wonder if that's it, if they have finally been asked to mentor the district's tributes this year. If they have, they would tell us soon, to let my brother and I know that they wouldn't be home. Of course, they will have to arrange for someone to look after us as well. If they have to, I'm sure Rory would offer to take care of us.

My thoughts are soon distracted when I hear a cheer come from the living room. It's Rafael's cheer - he won the game of cards. A small smile grows on my face as I re-join the two in the living room. My brother is four years younger than I am which means his name has not been entered for the Games yet. I will always have some self-hate for myself. If Rafael's name is ever drawn, I won't be able to volunteer for him. That's another privilege that's been taken away from the games. My mum volunteered for Prim, her sister who died in the war, and I can't think of what would have happened if she hadn't. Rafael is strong, but I don't believe he has the strength, determination or wit to win the Games. I don't believe that I do either. I'm hoping for the best that our names aren't drawn out. As Rafael jumps around the room celebrating his win, I help Rory to tidy away the cards.

"Beaten again?" I ask with a small laugh. Rafael and Rory have played several games with each other, each with the same winner. He shakes his head and laughs with me.

"I let him win," Rory jokes.

"Oh sure, you're always letting him win." I say with a smirk. As I continue to pick up the cards, I notice that the two hands that were helping me were no longer there. I look up to see what has distracted him. He's holding the cards that he has picked up in his hands, ready to flick at me. Seeing his motives, I quickly duck my head to avoid the oncoming cards, but I'm too late. He flicks the cards at me and they hit my face, wiping the smirk off. He chuckles as I exaggerate my gasp. Unable to hold my laugh in, I shake my head and let it out while I pick up the cards he flicked at me. He stands to calm Rafael as I collect the other cards and put them away in the drawer.

For the next hour, we sit and share stories. Some of them are tales and fables, whereas some of them are true. Most of Rory's action and horror stories are real, but he says they're make believe so as not to scare Rafael. But I know my brother doesn't believe him at all. As our parents have already given us the details of the previous war, we can tell that his stories are true. His expression turns distant as he goes into further details. I can see tears welling up in his eyes as he relives what happened in his mind, so I place a light hand on his shoulder. I tell him that he doesn't need to continue with the story. With my words, he nods and looks down at his cupped hands. I turn to Rafael, who is biting on his lower lip, and I mouth the words "Go to your room," so I can comfort Rory. He does as he is told and leaves the living room in silence. I sit with Rory for a minute before I stand and walk to the kitchen to get him a drink. I fill a glass with water and hand it to him when I return to the living room. He mutters a small thank you and takes a sip of the water. We sit in silence for the next ten minutes while I lightly rub his back. Rory has always been like an older brother to me and we have always been there for each other and we always will be. He is my closest friend, despite our age difference.

The front door opens without a knock and I stand up and go to the hallway to see who it is. Of course, it's only my Mum and Dad. I give them a small smile as they walk in, and my father returns it, but my mother doesn't. She walks straight into the living room to Rory, a neutral expression on her face. Raising a questioning brow, I turn to my Dad who has closed the door and standing against the wall, his arms folded across his broad chest, and a crumpled shirt. Before I can ask any questions, he shakes his head to silence me. After a couple of painfully silent minutes, Rory walks out of the living room, my mother following him. He heads towards the front door and as I realise he's leaving, I rush over to him and place a light hand on his arm.

"I'll come round tomorrow, okay? Besides, I have some homework you can help me with." Winking, I pull my hand away and he laughs as he walks out of the house, his mouth smiling, but I can see lines of tension forming on his forehead. With a carefully structured smile on my face, I close the door and turn back to my Mum and Dad, my face falling in curiosity.

"You won't be able to go over to Rory's tomorrow, Jay. Your father and I need to do some things with you," my Mum says firmly. She knows that if she isn't firm with me, I will probably go round Rory's house anyway. Like I said, he's my closest friend. I sigh and slide my hands into my pockets as I look between my parents. They explain to me that I'll be busy most of the day hunting and in the bakery, but when I ask for what reason, they shake their heads and refuse to tell me. They send me to bed straight after, saying that I'll need extra sleep.

I'm woken the next morning by a knock on my door and my father telling me through the door to wake up. Groaning, I lift myself out of bed and go into the bathroom, my mind set on a nice, hot shower. I close the door when I walk in and place the towel on the railing before switching on the head of the shower. After undressing, I step into the hot water. I let my hair soak up the water as I close my eyes, letting the heat consume me. My tense muscles relax under the water and I grab the shampoo from the stand on the wall. I pour a blob of the jelly like substance onto my hair and rub it in. My tense muscles relax under the powerful jet of water. Once I wash my hair and body, I turn off the water, wrap the towel around my body and step out of the shower. Picking up a smaller towel from the cupboard, I wrap my hair up in it and walk back to my room. I quickly dry down and tie my hair into a braid which my Mum had shown me how to do when I was younger. I dress into clothes suitable for hunting and take out my boots from the wardrobe, then rush down the stairs and head into the kitchen.

My mother has already prepared me some toast when I arrive, so I sit down at the table to eat it. I take my time to eat my breakfast while I think about the day ahead of me. Why are they taking me out hunting and working at the bakery? Then it hits me, and I feel really stupid. The Hunger Games, of course. The Reaping is a week away and they want to train me in case my name is pulled out. Now I think about it, I've never really feared my name being pulled out of the lottery yet, but the thought worries me. If my name is chosen, will I survive? Probably not. I'm not physically strong. I've never had to fight, hunt or try to keep myself alive at all in my life. I don't think the odds would ever be in my favour. When I finish my toast, I place the plate in the sink and quickly pull on my boots.

My Mum is waiting for me by the door, a large backpack on her shoulders, her hair tied back the same way mine is. I walk over to her and she opens the door, letting me out first. We walk to the forest in silence. I don't know what time it is, so I look up into the sky to try and guess the time from the position of the sun. It's only early morning, so it seems to be around seven A.M. When we reach the entrance to the forest, I'm stopped in my paths as my Mum presses a hand against me. She takes a few steps forward, looking around cautiously before allowing me to follow her. I keep my steps as quiet as I can and we slowly walk deeper into the forest. We reach a large rock where my mother places the bag on top of. She opens it and pulls out two bows, followed with a pack of arrows. She places the pack of arrows on her back and hands a bow to me.

"I'm going to teach you how to hunt, in case you ever need to. I'll teach you how to use a bow, snares, and about the poisonous and edible plants," she said, taking her own bow into her hands.

"Why?" I ask, even though I know the reason why. It's one week until the reaping, which means my parents will want me trained in case my name is ever drawn out. Why they haven't started this earlier, I don't know. Maybe they thought - because I'll never need to sign up for Tesserae - that it would be very rare if my name was pulled out. Though, this surprises me. Prim, my Mother's sister, had only been entered in once when she was chosen. The Games always surprise you, knock you off your feet. I was quite intrigued why my parents didn't train me more. Having a tribute in the games is one thing, having the daughter of two victors of two consecutive games, as well as war heroes and public figures, is something completely different. I would be used to twist and destroy my parents, in case of any future rebellions being planned.

First of all, my mother marks a target on a tree and shows me how to shoot with the bow. She makes it seem as easy as breathing because she can shoot the target with one arrow. When I try, I don't start off so good and I worry I don't take after her with this particular skill, something that would be ever so useful if I was chosen in the games. A head start, they call it. It takes me a few shots to get close to the target. After using five arrows, my Mum stops me and changes my position. I take note of how I am standing, how high and low my arms are positioned. When I take my next shot, I hit the target. A feel of relief flows through my body, knowing that if I'm ever reaped for the Games, I'll be able to use a bow and arrow. Just to make sure that it wasn't a lucky shot, I pull another arrow into position and shoot again, remembering the way my Mum stood me. I hit the target.

For the next few hours, I'm shown the best places to hit prey and how to make a clean kill. She shows me how to create snares and traps to lure in any nearby animals. She also teaches me which plants are edible and which plants are poisonous by matching them to some pictures in a large book that was in her backpack. The book belonged to her family and was there for them to know which plants to pick to eat when she went hunting.

We return back to our house in the late noon, and I quickly rush up to my bedroom to change into suitable clothes to go to the bakery in. I'm not sure why bakery would be a useful skill in the Games, but I don't question my mother for now and I head over to where my father is waiting for me. We have a less intense few hours than I did with my mother. To my surprise, he's not teaching me anything to do with baking, it's about painting. Camouflage really. He shows me how to create good hiding camouflage with just mud and leaves. It's actually quite fun, playing with mud everywhere - It reminds me of when I used to play in the meadow with my brother when I was younger. The time I spend with my father seems to fly and it's soon time to go home for dinner. I help him tidy up the bakery before we walk back to Victor's Village. While we walk, I watch the sun slowly set beyond the horizon. I don't normally watch the sun set, but I've seen images of this a lot when my father paints.

After dinner, fatigue starts to set in, so I head up to my bedroom for an early nights sleep. I leave my window open slightly to allow the cool night air flow through my bedroom and then I change into my nightwear and crawl into bed. I fall asleep rather quickly, but almost at once pleasant dreams are disturbed by nightmares. I dream that my name is chosen and I have to go into the arena, to fight and kill for my own survival like a pawn, a soldier. The scenery in my dream is just like the old paintings my dad created when he came out of the arena at the age of sixteen. I wake up with a jolt, breathing heavily. My eyes dart around the room until I realise that I'm safe - for now - in my own home. I'm left lying awake for the rest of the night, fearing the reaping next week.

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><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for reading! Please review and tell me what you think :)


	3. The Reaping

Today is special. Well, in some ways it is. Most people here find it a horror. In fact, all people in District Twelve do, even those without children. It's the day of the reaping, which means one boy and one girl will be chosen to compete in the Hunger Games. They are carrying on from the number which they stopped at all of those years ago. So it's the 84th Hunger Games today - ten Games after my parent's first time in the arena.

I originally planned to catch a few hours of extra sleep, but I'm awoken an hour earlier than planned by a knock on my bedroom door. I had been thinking that my parents would also want to sleep in for an extra two hours or so, but I guess I was wrong. However, when I push myself out of bed and open my door, I see whom I wasn't expecting to see. Rory Hawthorne. The way he pushes himself into my room shows that he is worried and I know why. He closes the door behind him and steps further into my room, starting to pace around. He seems _really _worried.

"Rory?" I ask in a soft tone of voice, not wanting to let him think that I am worried as well. He stops for a moment to take a look at me, studying my expression, as if sensing a mask covering my emotions.  
>"Are you not worried?" He asks, frowning, "Frightened at all?"<br>Of course I was frightened, beyond belief, but I couldn't let him know; I didn't want to make him worry too much. I run my fingers through my hair and sigh up at him.

"My name's only been put in three times, and there are people here in this district with a higher chance of being selected than me." I know what I'm saying is true because I don't need Tesserae, but I can't stop thinking that it could happen.

"What if –" He starts to speak, but I shut him up by stepping close to him and press my finger up to his lips.

"Rory, I'll be fine. I won't be chosen. There's other people my age who'll have their name in twice as much as I do because they've had to sign up for Tesserae. If I am chosen, I promise you I'll win. For you and for my family." I keep my eyes on him as I speak to make sure that he believes every single word I say. I mean everything I say. I would never lie to Rory, ever. He's my best friend and I know that I can always count on him to be there for me and to listen to me.

"Jay…" He mutters, the tone in his voice telling me that he doesn't believe what I'm saying. Though I hope he believes my promise.

I make my way over to my window and open the curtains, deciding to look out for a moment. Far from my house, in the centre of District Twelve, the stage and lottery are being set up. A few people are already gathered in the centre, but Peacekeepers are holding them back from invading the stage. The sky is dull and faint complaints from the centre echo through the panes of my window. I try to imagine myself standing on the stage after my name being reaped, but it's hard to bring all of the emotions which they could be feeling together.

Rory mutters my name so I turn around, my expression soft, but my arms folding.

"Come here," he whispers, but loud enough so that I can hear. So I do as he says. I walk over to him, and knowing what he wants to do, I open my arms and he pulls me close to him. We remain in the embrace for a few minutes, until there's a knock on the door. I pull away from the hug slowly and open the door to my bedroom. It's my mother.

She shares a glance with Rory before he gives a small nod, which is when the door closes, leaving her on the other side. He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead and then leaves after a small 'goodbye'. After a minute pause, my mother walks back into my room, a small sigh escaping her lips when she leans against the door she closes it. There is an awkward silence between us, as we both occasionally glance out of the window to look at the square where they are setting up the stage.

"How are you feeling?" I manage to croak out in a quiet tone, fear showing obviously in my tone of voice.

"I think the question is: how are _you _feeling?" My mother replies back to me, stepping forward so she can stand in front of me, her hand gently resting on my shoulder. I don't know what to say, I don't know what to feel. Should I feel frightened? Of course I should, it's the reaping. Should I feel thankful? Yes, I have so many people around me who are coming to speak to me, wish me luck and care for me. I never have to sign up for tessarae. Should I feel worried? I may be used as a weapon to break my parents - rebels who beat the Capitol and won the games… twice. If my name is chosen, I'll just be another pawn in their silly little games. Of course, I can't say this out loud.

I give a light shrug, not intending for her hand to drop of my shoulder, but it does. She licks her lips and sighs quietly before pulling me close to her, where she brushes her fingers through my hair, whispering softly to me.

"Don't worry about today, you won't be chosen." Her words comfort me, but not enough to stop me thinking of the possibilities that I may be chosen. Though, out of plenty, my name is only in there three times. Hopefully the odds will be in my favour once more this year.

The white dress covers most of my body, only leaving my head, arms and shins visible. My feet are covered with flat white shoes that have a lace bow on the front to match the lace on my dress. It's not what I usually like to wear, but it's the reaping, a day to look your best. The front sections of my hair have been clipped back in braids, where the rest has been tied back into a bun. I like how it's supposed to represent my parents in some way: the braids, my mother, and the bun, my father.

We make our way towards the square, my parents at either side of me as if they're protecting me. They continue to share glances with each other and I know that they fear something bad may happen, but I dare mention anything about it. I say nothing. We sign in, but after that I'm separated from my parents and brother. I stand in a line of other fourteen year old girls, and in the pack of females, I'm in the middle. I glance around the others whose names aren't in the two bowls on the stage, and meet the eyes of my best friend. Rory seems panicked, and honestly, so am I. He isn't the one who has to face being reaped, but it's not just those between twelve and eighteen who fear the Hunger Games. Either way, every year, people lose those who they are close to. I've seen families break apart from losing someone because of the Games.

Then the District Twelve escort, Orlando Malone, comes onto the stage at two. His lime green hair is spiked up straight, not even swaying in the light breeze because of the amount of hairspray and gel that holds it. It looks like he's been attacked by an electronic fence. He's _extremely _bubbly and outgoing, always giggling. Every year my mother tells me that he reminds her of the woman who used to be the district's escort - Effie Trinket.

"Happy 84th Hunger Games!" Orlando sings down the microphone, nothing but excitement in his voice, but he has to step back to allow the mayor to read a story to us. The history of Panem. The Dark Days, the rebellion, and how the Hunger Games first came along. Then the story of the second rebellion comes to turn, and most eyes in the square turn to my mother and father. It happens every year; they're used to the stares. The Hunger Games were stopped for quite a few years, but then the wrong person came into ruling. He tells us how President Paylor stepped down and how the country is now ruled over by President Clark. Julius Clark is the man who brought the Hunger Games back to life. Once the reading is over and the previous victors have been read out - four in total - the mayor steps down from the stage and Orlando retakes the place in front of the microphone.

"Time to pull out the names," he grins, "Ladies first." With a laugh, he makes his way over to the bowl closest to him and lets his hand drop in. For one torturous minute, his hand swirls around the names, the excited grin never leaving his lips. My heart beat rises as one piece of paper is pulled out of the bowl and Orlando waits until he is back up at the microphone before he unfolds the paper. At first I don't register the name he reads out, but as it bounces around in my mind, my stomach churns.

The name is Jay Mellark.

Numbness. That's all I feel as I push my way through the crowd so I can be lead up to the stage by Peacekeepers. I can hear my mother yelling after me, and my father trying to hold her back and comfort her. My brother is crying, and I want to look back at them, but I know it's best not to until I'm up on that stage. Tears threaten to escape from my eyes, but I hold them back, as I remember something my mother used to tell me. She told me never to show them my tears; they'll see me as weak. I swallow and hold them back as I step up onto the stage, trying to show confidence in the way I move and stand.

There's silence for quite a while as I look around the crowd, seeing nothing but shocked expressions. Had people not expected the daughter of Katniss and Peeta Mellark to be reaped? I hadn't, so I don't know why I'm questioning them. Orlando looks between the crowd and me, also seeming shocked. But he soon loses it and returns to his bubbly self.

"Well, now to choose the boy tribute," he sings once more, strutting over to the second bowl full of names. I don't pay any attention to the name he pulls out; I'm too busy focusing on my family who has been joined by Rory. They all appear angry, apart from Rafael who is still crying into my mother. I wish I could be down there with them, trying to comfort them, but I'll have that time in the Justice Building soon. Swallowing, I turn my gaze away from them to see who the boy tribute is as he walks onto the stage. I recognise him from school, though he's two years above me, and around the district, but I've never really spoken to him.

His name is Archie Stanton.

He doesn't appear to have muscles on him, but I know he's strong. I've seen him when he helps his father around the Hob, lifting crates filled with meat. There's a distance between us to allow Orlando to stand there. He takes our hands and lifts them up into the year.

"District Twelve's tributes for the 84th Hunger Games!" He yells with great joy, waiting for applause from the audience before dropping our hands. Then the mayor takes Orlando's place on stage and wishes all the families a Happy Hunger Games, though I can see he doesn't want to be saying that. He knows my family personally and quite well. Archie and I are told to shake hands, so we do, and then the anthem of Panem begins to play.

Once the anthem is finished playing, the Peacekeepers take us from the stage and over to the Justice Building. They put us into different rooms so that we can have privacy while we spend time talking to our families and those who visit us. I sit alone in the room for a few minutes, looking around the room. Even though I live in a house in Victor's Village, this room still seems very rich. There's been a lot of detail put into the artwork around the room, and I start to wonder what happens in here when the tributes aren't spending their last hour with their friends and family. I run my fingers over the fabric on the couch I'm sitting on, the velvet sort of relaxing me. It reminds me of home. Some of the cushions are made of velvet.

My parents and brother are the first people to come in. Rafael rushes over to me straight away and I open my arms to pull him close to me. His tears fall onto the shoulders of my dress, and I run my fingers through his hair to try and calm him. I hold him for quite a while, struggling to hold back my tears. Eventually he pulls away from me to allow my parents to take his place. At first, not one of us knows what to say, we're all too shocked. But after a while, my mother cups my cheeks and begins to speak.

"Jay, listen to me, whatever they throw at you, you throw it right back at them. Don't let them mock you. They'll know you're our daughter, they'll know that, but you need to _show _them that you are." She tells me.

At first, I don't understand what she means by show them, but the more I think about it, the more I do. I need to put up a fight like my parents did. Use their signature. And that's when my mother slips something into my hands. The moment I feel the shape of it is the moment I recognise what it is - the Mockingjay pin. I look up at her then down at the pin.

"Wear this. Use it as your token. Remind them of who you are," my mother whispers then presses a kiss onto my forehead.

Then my father sits down beside me and wraps his arm around my shoulder. He holds me close and tells me that I'll be alright. I know I won't. I don't have the survival skills my mother had in the Games. I may be able to keep myself alive for a few days, but after that, I'd be like a lone bird to a hunter. Anyone could take me down. Then again, my mother sits down on the other side of my and we all shuffle close to each other.

They keep me in a silent embrace. None of us have anything to say. We are too frightened. Too worried. Their tears fall from their eyes onto me. They know what I am going through. They have been through it before. They hold me tight. I don't want to let them go, but I have to. My brother sits beside us, too upset to say or do anything. We are given the sign and time is up. They have to leave. My father stands first and my mother follows him, then my brother. They mutter words of "I love you" and "We love you". My mother whispers "stay alive" and my father shoots a glare at her. I reply the same back to them. There is sadness in their eyes. Anger in their eyes. A man comes in to take them out and he nods at my parents.

"Mr and Mrs Mellark, what a pleasant surprise." I can hear sarcasm and resentment hidden deep beneath his words.

Then I start to think: was this a set up? Was my name pulled out of that bowl just to hurt my parents? But how could they make sure that my name _was _pulled out? Did they fill the whole bowl with my name? The way this Peacekeeper is looking at me and my family, I'm starting to think that. Suddenly, I start to hate the Capitol a lot more than I did.

The Peacekeeper leads my family out of the room, but joining me afterwards is Rory. Instantly he pulls me into an embrace, holding me tightly.

"Win this, Jay, you win this for us. For your family, for District Twelve, for me." He tells me, and I know I must. I can't let them down. I must win the Games, but how can I? I'm not a warrior, I'm not a fighter, and I'm certainly not able to win the Hunger Games.

"I will, I promise you." I tell him, not wanting him to leave on a negative note from me. I want him to stay positive, where I will not. I want my family to stay positive, where it's clear that I cannot. Nothing means more to me than my family and I know that I must win the Games for them. _Stay positive, _I tell myself, _maybe you will win. Maybe you will have some skill in that arena. _

He brushes some loose strands of hair behind my ear and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.

"Stay calm, stay hidden and stay _strong_."

Those are the last words I hear from him before he's taken out by the Peacekeeper and I'm left alone, with only my conscience to keep me in sanity.


End file.
